The Boy Next Door
by droppinganchors
Summary: Modern AU: The eldest Bennet sisters have been living on their own in relative peace and quiet for quite some time now. But when a handsome stranger and his mysterious friend move into their apartment complex…well, it's a shame all that is about to change.
1. Chapter 1

Elizabeth Bennet cursed in frustration as she banged on the door with her foot. "Jane!" she panted between racing breaths, the mass of grocery bags in her hands weighing her down. Everything that could go wrong had; a car had almost run her over, the store had been out of chocolate ice cream – how does that even happen? - one of her bags had been ripped open by the gallon of milk, and the creepy guy from downstairs lurking by the elevator had prompted her to run up the four flights of stairs to their apartment. And all she had to look forward to for her troubles was a visit from the self-appointed dating expert she was forced to call her mother. God, but this was turning out to be a fantastic day.

"Jane! I'm back!" she yelled, her foot connecting with open air this time as her sister's wide-eyed face appeared in the doorway.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't hear you the first time because the vacuum was running and then the water for the spaghetti was boiling over and-" her apology cut off as Lizzy shoved bags of groceries into her arms.

"It's okay, it's not something you need to be sorry about. You really need to learn to stop apologizing at everything…Mom'll be here any minute now though, so you might want to change out of your sweatpants," Lizzy called over her shoulder as she started the mad dash into the kitchen to start unloading the bags.

Their apartment on Netherfield Lane wasn't big, but it was home now, and, more important than either of those things, it was affordable. It They had spent months turning it from a cold and dark cell to a place they could love. Sure, the furniture in the house was all mismatched, purchased from a variety of secondhand stores and even a select few flea markets. Sure, some of Jane's paintings on the wall hid patches of mold or dirt or other unmentionables Lizzy would rather not think about. (They had tried every cleaner they could think of when they first bought the apartment, but it had not taken them long at all to realize that whatever it was was not coming off anytime soon.) Sure, the view from the window was of a dark alley that bordered a parking garage. But at the end of the day, this was the place she would always come home to, and she couldn't imagine leaving to go anywhere else. It had its quirks, but the imperfections only served to give it a story. Lizzy loved the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that had already been installed when they had bought the house; Jane loved the collection of hanging flower pots and other assorted plants that had started to amass, and their third roommate, Charlotte, loved the freedom and rustic feel of the fire escape outside of their window.

And besides, its location was perfect. Lizzy may have had to walk a couple of miles to work every day, but she enjoyed the exercise, and besides, it gave her a perfect excuse to watch the people going by. New York City wasn't too far either, and the city shone like a crown of jewels in the distance, blinking lights glimmering like stars in the sky. It was captivating and dangerous, and though they didn't go often, the power of the city gave her the same rush as a good book. It was like something out of a fairy tale with its hum of energy and call to adventure, and she was a sucker for it (not that she would ever admit to it).

However, her mother coming to town wasn't exactly the sort of adventure Lizzy had in mind. Fannie Bennet didn't come often, but when she did, Lizzy was worried about it for weeks beforehand and angry about it for weeks afterwards. She hoped this time would be relatively less painless considering her mother was only coming to take Jane home for her spring break, but somehow she doubted it.

Mrs. Bennet seemed to find fault with everything Lizzy did, and she knew deep down that today wouldn't be any different. Her curly brown hair was too plain, her figure (or rather, lack of one) too unattractive. She preferred basketballs to dolls, the sounds of nature to sewing and cleaning, and reading in the comfort of her home to going clubbing.

She knew too that her mother would see only the clutter of the apartment and not the charm, and that the state of it was a bad reflection on her ability to keep a home – and therefore, probably a husband too. The meals she cooked were, according to her mother, too dry, or too soggy, or over-seasoned, or not elaborate enough. Once, Mrs. Bennet had even proclaimed to the world that Lizzy buttered her toast the wrong way, citing that the way she held her knife was an insult to their family. Lizzy still wasn't quite sure what exactly it was that she had done wrong.

But more than anything else, what Fannie disapproved of was Lizzy's complete and utter inability to find a steady boyfriend. To her, that was more important than anything else; Fannie had even tried to convince Lizzy to major in engineering instead of English because the male to female ratio was better. From the time she was a child, her mother encouraged her to believe that the world was full of Prince Charmings, of handsome gentlemen with perfect manners who were placed on this earth for the sole purpose of sweeping her off her feet. Now, she was left a hopeless romantic with the emphasis on the "hopeless" when it came to actually finding what she was looking for in a guy. But she at least recognized that perfect men didn't exist; she not only accepted her singleness but embraced it.

Her mother, on the other hand, was still enthusiastic about her daughter's prospects (though perhaps less enthusiastic than she had once been). "I don't know what you're talking about," their mother would tell her. "There are hundreds of single young men out there, and if you would bother to set foot outside every once in a while, I'm sure you could find one who wouldn't mind putting up with you."

Sometimes the way she phrased it would change, but the underlying message was always the same. She wanted weddings to plan and sons-in-law to abuse and grandchildren to look after, and she was willing to do whatever it took to get them. Even though she knew – they all did, really – that Jane was the one who would be most likely to give her these things, she could never seem to let Lizzy live in her world of make-believe.

Lizzy was pretty sure her mother would have been fine seeing her in prison if there was any chance of it ending in a wedding with the guy in the cell next to her.

But this time, Lizzy was prepared for anything. They had spent the better part of the last week cleaning and dusting the apartment, making sure to hit every single nook and cranny and straighten out what was typically an organized chaos. The room was still dimly lit and even she wouldn't refer to the furniture or décor as being fashionable, but damn it to hell if her mother could find even a speck of dust anywhere inside. And if she was asked about her romantic prospects…well, Lizzy was ready for that too. She hid a smile as her mind drifted to thoughts of the cute new volunteer who had joined the library staff last month. Even though he had a reputation of being a huge flirt and she knew nothing would come of it, her mother would eat it all up. Plus, he was _really_ cute.

Jane's appearance startled her out of her daydreams as she rolled out the last of her suitcases into what functioned as their living room. Lizzy didn't envy her the three hour car ride home alone with their mother or the week at home that would follow, but she knew it would be good for her sister. Jane had been practically a zombie these past couple of weeks between her teaching position at Fordham and doing research for her dissertation that was quickly approaching. Lizzy had tried her best to keep her sister sane in the face of so much work and stress, but it was no use. Jane was obsessed.

Jane had been working toward the goal of a Ph.D. for years now, and now that it was finally within her grasp, she had drawn even deeper within herself. She barely slept anymore, she seemed out of it more often than not, and it was getting to the point where Jane wouldn't even go out to dinner because she claimed to be too busy to leave the apartment. If she was being completely honest with herself, Lizzy was worried about her sister. Lizzy had tried everything she could think of to no avail, and though the thought of dealing with her mother and sisters alone for an entire week sounded like more of a nightmare than anything, she hoped it would be good for Jane. In any case, it'd be a nice break from the relatively quiet routine the girls had fallen into here.

Lizzy just wished that sending her sister home for a week didn't mean a visit from Mrs. Bennet.

* * *

"Why, Jane dear! You look lovely, as always….that shade of blue suits you just fine, my darling, I knew you could not be so beautiful for nothing…but Lizzy, are there no mirrors in this godforsaken city? Your makeup is smudged, your shirt is wrinkled, and for the love of God, how many times do I have to tell you that you ought to at least _try_ to make your hair look presentable?"

And so it had begun. Not with a bang, but with a nosy mother who cared far too much.

Lizzy was surprised at how few complaints there had been; normally once her mother really got going, she was like a car without the brakes. Her mother hadn't even addressed the state of the house, their lack of boyfriends, or how little they had come home lately.

"But I _love_ this apartment building," her mother finished with a flourish.

Lizzy's mouth dropped open. Jane stopped in her tracks.

" _What_?" they exclaimed loudly in unison, four letters not nearly enough to express their complete and utter shock.

She didn't even know how to respond beyond that. There was no way…the last time her mother had come to visit, Fannie had spent hours rearranging the same set of table and chairs, moving them one inch in every direction and slightly tilting them before announcing that nothing could make them look any more appealing. She had criticized the lighting, the location, the designs they had picked for the curtains, the size of the rooms…nothing had been safe.

Mrs. Bennet's lips began to slowly curl upward, the first hints of a smile beginning to form.

Lizzy watched with horror at the sly look on her mother's face. Something was wrong.

"I just ran into the _nicest_ young man in the elevator," Fannie told them, her body positively thrumming with excitement. "He held the door open, such wonderful manners, and he's not too bad of a looker either," she continued with a wink. "And the best part? He's moving in to the apartment next to the two of you!"

Lizzy resisted the urge to bang her head repeatedly against the wall, settling for a dramatic eye roll instead.

Of course this would happen. She had never even seen another person, male or female, in the building who was similar to Jane's and her ages. Most of the people in this area were old and retired, making for a comfortable place to come back to but one with very few prospects of marriage.

But of course, the one day when her mother came to town, a man who fit her bill for marriageability would just happen to waltz through the elevator door and appear out of thin air.

The universe officially hated her.

"…and he's studying to be a doctor, Janie, isn't that wonderful? You girls simply must go over and introduce yourselves once he's gotten himself settled in, I do believe you'll get along wonderfully. He seems to have been raised right and like attracts like and, my goodness, I do believe I could see one of my daughters married by the end of next year…"

So he enjoyed cutting up pig guts and looking at dead bodies for a grade, big whoop. Lizzy couldn't think of higher praise than that.

Though really, when she thought about it, this one sounded better than some of the other guys her mom had tried to set them up with. There was the tattoo artist with the "beautiful eyes" who had ended up being an escaped convict, the "he's-so-rich" businessman who only talked about himself and refused to look up from his phone, and "the incredibly sweet" boy who worked at the flower shop who, as they later discovered, already had a girlfriend ("though honey, just because there's a goalie doesn't mean you can't score!").

"…it is a shame you'll be coming home though, Jane, but I suppose it can't be helped. Your sisters are far too excited see you, and I won't be disappointing them now…But I know! I'll bake a pie for you girls to take next door when I bring you back next week, that's a safe bet and a surefire sign of interest…and wouldn't it be a great opportunity to invite him over in a couple of weeks? It's perfect. Oh my Janie! My Lizzy! Finally you're getting some luck, all it takes is a little push in his direction and…"

 _He's yours_ , Lizzy and Jane mouthed at each other behind their mother's back. Though the speech had come in many different forms, the ending was always the same. Riding off into the sunset with Mr. Right, sparkling diamond rings on their fingers.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Lizzy asked abruptly, mentally crossing her fingers that her mother would catch on to the sudden change of subject.

"Ah, if only I had the time," she responded with a deep sigh. "But I left a casserole in the oven at home, and you know how your father is…."

 _Aaaand here it comes._

"...oh, but I do wish I could stay long enough to try and welcome your new neighbor. Lizzy, you've got to make him feel right at home, it's such a pity that Jane will be gone, she's so good at that sort of thing, aren't you, dear? But I suppose you'll do," she said as an expectant look arose on her face, pointed directly at Lizzy. "I guess there's a good reason after all for you to stay out here, more so than whatever nonsense you were spouting last week."

Lizzy wrestled with her anger at that one. Nonsense? She was single-handedly running a camp for hundreds of local children out of the library this week. Even if she had wanted to come home – and truth be told, she did miss her dad – she couldn't just abandon them like that. She'd been working on getting this program going for months now, and if her mother thought she would drop it that quickly, she was sorely mistake.

"We'll miss you though!" her mother's cheery tone was no match for the emptiness in the words.

"Pity," Lizzy responded drily. Mrs. Bennet didn't catch on to the sarcasm lacing her daughter's words, but if the kick to her foot was any indication, it hadn't gone over Jane's head. "Tell Dad and the girls I say hi and I'll see them in May for Lydia's birthday."

"We will," Jane promised before Mrs. Bennet could respond. "We should probably get this show on the road pretty soon here, Mom." As Lizzy suspected, her sister's eyes met her own as if to warn her off acting out. It wasn't anything new; Jane's even temper and hatred of conflict had helped keep Lizzy's attitude in check countless times over the years. Anything she could do to keep the peace in their family or in their friendships, she would.

Jane started to herd their mother toward the door, sensing that Lizzy was at the end of her rope and that every passing minute was another chance for her to go over the edge. The girls embraced first, and then Mrs. Bennet began reaching out to her middle daughter for a quick hug.

As the two turned to walk out the door, Mrs. Bennet glanced back over her shoulder and gave a quick wink.

"I expect results, darling."

* * *

It had taken all of ten minutes for Jane to realize that she had forgotten her stack of research books. She had apologized profusely to her mother the whole ride back; she still had some last-minute stuff to look over for her thesis, and she couldn't believe that of everything she had been packing, she had forgotten the only thing she truly needed to bring. She had told her mom to wait in the car since it wouldn't be long, but she felt absolutely horrible about the inconvenience she had caused.

The elevator opened at their floor, and she burst through the doors…

And ran right into one of the most attractive men she had ever seen.

She looked up, startled, into bright blue eyes and golden brown hair that perfectly framed his face. She was struck speechless for what seemed like an eternity before she was finally able to utter a chorus of _sorry_ 's and _I didn't see you there_ 's, blushing brightly as she sunk deeper into his gaze.

"That's completely all right," he responded as a brilliant smile came over his face. Jane swore she could have swooned if she had let herself. "I'm Charles Bingley, but my friends call me Charlie. It's a real pleasure to meet you."


	2. Chapter 2

William Darcy was normally a very punctual man, but today was an exception.

He had left with more than enough time to be there ten minutes early, but between the ridiculous traffic he had almost managed to wipe from his memory, getting caught behind the big yellow school bus, and now this stubborn elevator, he hadn't stood a chance. He pressed the button for the fourth floor one more time for good measure before jamming his finger into the one to close the door. He felt like a little bit of an idiot, but it finally shut, and with a grinding screech the elevator stuttered to life beneath him.

Darcy would normally be ashamed of the fact that he was running late, but he figured Bingley wouldn't mind. He had been stood up on more than enough occasions by his friend, and even when Charlie remembered to show up, it was a miracle if he was less than half an hour late. Chances were he wouldn't even be awake yet, even though he had spent the last few days begging for Darcy's help in moving in to the new apartment.

Darcy kind of figured he should have been let off the hook considering he had been the one to suggest this apartment complex and who had worked out a cheaper rate for Bingley. The landlord was an old friend of his father's from when he tried his hand at real estate; in fact, what was left of the Darcy family still owned the penthouse suite in this building, and it seemed like a no-brainer to offer the place to his friend. Bingley hadn't accepted the offer of the penthouse, but he _had_ agreed to take a downstairs room, which had been easy enough to arrange. If Darcy hadn't been looking for an excuse to get out of the house, maybe he would have pointed all that out to Charlie. But as it stood, he had publishers and editors breathing down his neck for the first draft of the book he was working on, a bad case of writer's block, and an intense desire to take his mind off the quickly approaching deadlines.

The little number four lit up as the elevator stopped abruptly, knocking Darcy off balance before its doors opened to show the dimly lit hallway beyond. He stepped out, turning to the right and walking to the room at the end of the hallway.

He knocked gently before letting himself in, quietly opening the door so as not to wake up his friend. But when he opened the door, Charlie was standing in the corner, unmoving and staring blankly out the window. His eyes seemed even more glazed over than usual

Bingley showed no sign of acknowledgment, no sign that he had registered his friend's presence in the room, until the ghost of a whisper crossed the distance between the two of them.

"I saw an angel."

Darcy stopped in his tracks. "Bingley, I swear to God, if you're high right now after calling me all this way to help you out…"

"That was a one time thing!" Charlie yelped as his head jerked away from the window, eyes finally alighting on the man looming in the doorway. Darcy had been kidding, of course, but judging by the revolted look on his friend's face, it didn't seem as though Bingley had found the humor in it.

"All right then, what happened?" he asked, bracing himself for the onslaught he had witnessed too many times before. The signs were all there; the dilated eyes, twiddling thumbs, distracted gaze…Darcy may not have been the medical student of the pair of them, but even he could read the symptoms accurately.

And with his friend, it was a disease far worse than drugs.

It was a girl.

"She's perfect," Bingley gushed. "Absolutely perfect. Beautiful, smart, kind…I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like her, she's…bewitching, absolutely bewitching. I saw her yesterday afternoon and I can't get her out of my mind, no matter how hard I try –"

 _The bewitching part is new_ , Darcy thought. The rest…not so much. "Did you actually talk to her?" he interrupted his friend. The last time Bingley had talked about how perfect someone was for him, it had been about a woman he had seen sitting ten rows in front of him at the movie theater while going to watch the latest _Star Wars_ screening. He hadn't even approached her, but he had felt the need to tell for weeks on end how she "shared his sense of humor" and "would be perfect for him."

"I introduced myself, and she introduced herself, and then she said she was running late and had to grab some books for something and –"

"So it's a no on that count, then." _And she's already making excuses to avoid him, that's not a good sign._

"No, it wasn't like that, we had a connection, I swear, she's _different_ -"

He might've been more inclined to believe it if he hadn't heard those exact words God knows how many times before. And he might've been more inclined to encourage his friend to go after her if he hadn't seen him get his heart broken just as many times.

"Charlie, you haven't even talked to the girl. Chances are you probably won't even see her again, maybe it's better to let this one go?"

"No, Darcy, I don't need to, I'm telling you, she's different than the rest. She's the closest thing to an angel I've ever seen, and besides – she's living next door! She told me herself," he finished with a flourish, clearly proud of everything he had managed to learn about the girl in the short conversation they had shared.

This was bad. This was really bad.

He couldn't show any sign of weakness.

"Are you completely sure? Maybe she was here on a visit, or maybe she's in a building nearby and you just misheard her." _And maybe you fall head over heels too quickly_.

"Sure I'm sure! She said she was, and she would never lie to me. She's –"

"Different," Darcy joined in, his sarcastic tone mixing with Bingley's dreamy one like oil and water. "Said that one already." His friend looked like a puppy who had been kicked repeatedly, and he sensed that pushing Bingley further might not be the smartest move. Even though he knew that nothing could get Charles Bingley to snap (mostly because he had tried it all already, but that was irrelevant now) he also knew that he would do anything to protect his best friend. "But I'll believe you." _Or at least pretend to_.

Bingley's hopeful eyes looked up at him. "You will?" He was practically beaming. "Oh Darcy, I know you'll love her. Of course you will, and once you meet her it'll all make sense. Oh, this is perfect! Absolutely perfect!" Darcy tried unsuccessfully to escape the bear hug that he knew was coming his way.

He hated hugs.

As Bingley started happily chattering about the possibilities and all the ways he could get to know the _exquisite_ young lady next door, the wheels in Darcy's mind began to turn.

There was no way to convince his friend that this young lady was bad news other than maybe beating him with a stick – and honestly, the chances of that working were slim to none as well. Bingley was unreasonable when it came to girls. He always had been; it was the biggest difference between the two, and Darcy had never understood how Bingley managed to lose his head whenever he was around one of them. Darcy had always been a bit of a cynic when it came to love – his family had discouraged his work as a writer because of it, citing that he was too emotionless, but the darker edge he brought to the very idea of romance had brought widespread appeal with it – and he had never once lost his level-headed attitude around a woman. Charlie, on the other hand, always seemed to become a lovesick puppy with no personality of his own as soon as one of them caught his eye. Darcy just didn't get it.

 _But maybe that was a good thing_ , he thought, the beginnings of a plan taking shape in his mind.

He had always managed to see straight through all of Bingley's "true loves" and "sweethearts" and "darlings", and though he had complete faith that somewhere, somehow, his friend would find a girl who would be in it for the right reasons and who would love him even half as much as he loved her, Darcy had a sneaking suspicion that this mystery neighbor would not prove to be that person. Bingley deserved only the best, and she didn't seem to be it.

Maybe if he could show that to Bingley, he could protect his friend from even a small portion of the heartache that was bound to spring up sooner or later. He could move in upstairs (lucky for him his father had insisted they keep the penthouse, and even luckier that his work was portable) and keep an eye on the situation. If all went well, then he had worried for nothing; if it didn't, he'd be on hand to pull Bingley out of her grip and run damage control.

Besides, Darcy reckoned as he remembered how awkward his friend had been the last time he had fallen for a girl, it was bound to provide free entertainment for a good long time.

Maybe he could even write his next novel about it.

* * *

Darcy wasn't quite sure how he had been conned into the shitty job. He was lugging all the furniture and boxes up four entire stories (just because he took the elevator instead of the stairs didn't mean he couldn't take the extra credit for the work) while Bingley sat comfortably on the couch he'd just lugged up, daintily picking through their contents. He had claimed to be unloading them all, but Darcy knew the truth. The only thing that Bingley was really looking for was his vast collection of military history novels and films, spanning thousands of years and hundreds of civilizations.

As Darcy approached the room at the end of the hallway, the last overflowing box in his arms, he heard a small "Oof," come from the other side. A soft thump and a jangling of keys followed suit. As he began to try and shuffle the massive box to the side in order to get a better look, it was followed up with a muttered, "Christ, watch your damn step."

A girl's voice.

Intrigued, he set the box down, attempting to subtly wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans as he turned to face her. The large 437 behind her head tipped him off. The neighbor. _Bingley's_ neighbor. He must've knocked her to the floor, he realized as he watched her stand to her full height of barely over five feet tall. The look of pure exasperation that covered her entire face added a couple of inches in the determination department, but even so she felt less than threatening. Her unruly brown curls framed rosy cheeks, and her eyes…as he looked into them, he saw flecks of green swirling in the dark chocolate-covered coating.

She was decently pretty, he supposed. Unconventionally so, but reasonably lovely nonetheless.

She certainly wasn't the type Charlie typically went for, but those eyes – there was a mystery behind them, and he began to see what his friend saw in her.

That personality might be a deal breaker for him though. Charlie would never be able to stand up to it.

"Some angel," he muttered under his breath, unable to help himself from giving her a quick once-over. She was wearing ratty grey sweatpants, holes torn through like swiss cheese and paint splatters covering the entire front side. Her shirt bore the name of some band, but it was too faded to read, and besides, he told himself, he didn't care what the band name was anyway. Her right sock had a hole in the toe, and the blue color of it contrasted sharply with the bright orange of the other one. No one in their right mind could refer to her as looking put together, and yet -

"More like some asshole," she countered, her tone laced with anger. "I'm not deaf, you know."

She had a bite to her, one that he supposed he could appreciate. She wasn't simpering like some other objects of Bingley's fascination, and though her features were petite enough that it looked as though she could break at any minute, her firm and seemingly expectant gaze indicated some measure of inner strength.

"You're standing on my keys," she finished.

He looked down. Sure enough, his dark brown loafer was perched on top of a lanyard shouting Hufflepuff! and bearing a ring of keys around the bottom. Darcy reached down silently, picking them up without another word. Her left hand stretched out to take them, and he placed the keys gently in her grip. He noted the clear lack of a diamond ring on her fourth finger. Even with the personality and perhaps less-than-stunning appearance, she was already doing better than at least three of Charlie's previous interests that he could recall. His friend could be extraordinarily oblivious sometimes.

Her voice was sharp as she responded to his actions with a clipped "Thanks."

He could only stand and watch her as she flipped through the keys until she hit the tiny gold one at the end. It was as though he couldn't take his eyes off her. But he supposed he shouldn't try to look away; keeping an eye on her was the best way to salvage what was left of his friend's well-being. Watching her had the potential to save his closest friend from the punishing repercussions that falling for this girl would bring him. It was up to him to run damage interference, to determine the safest plan of action to keep her from breaking his friend's heart.

She clicked the key into the door, wiggling it back and forth to try and jam it into the hole. The lock wasn't giving. She cursed under her breath as her fingers slipped off the tiny key, its edge slicing a paper-thin red line into the skin of her forefinger.

He chuckled darkly, unable to stop an expression of amusement from sneaking onto his face. She whirled around at the noise, stormy eyes piercing through his thoughts and into his soul. "Don't you have something better to do?"

Darcy took a moment, his index finger rhythmically tapping his chin as he pretended to think. "No," he said. "I don't." He had intended for it to come out sarcastically, but the words had gotten a little bit stuck in his throat. Based on her exasperated expression, he doubted his true intentions shone through. "You're doing it wrong," he forced out, struggling to remedy the situation.

He was met with cold silence. _Shit._ Charlie would never forgive him if he screwed this up now.

She turned, body rigid from head to toe, back to face the door. She reached for the key with purpose, once again sliding it back and forth in a fruitless attempt to find purchase. The lock wouldn't budge.

He knew he shouldn't, knew it was better to back off, but it was as though his feet couldn't pay attention. They moved of their own accord, one step, two, all leading him closer to her.

"Allow, me, please." Darcy watched his hand stretch out, awkwardly extended out in front of both of them as she refused to move her hands.

"Ever the perfect gentleman, I see. You'll forgive me for being disinclined to accept your _generous_ offer." The sarcasm was positively oozing, dripping effortlessly from each word. He was almost offended.

"I don't mean to be an asshole, though you seem pretty intent on treating me like one." He forced himself to press on even as he sensed her dramatic eye roll. "I know these locks, and you're going about it all wrong, and if you'll step back, I can show you."

She paused for a moment before huffing out a curt "Fine" and taking a step back. It had been years since he had done this, since he had needed to unlock these locks with these keys for doors like this in this building, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. He took the key from her outstretched hand, actively ignoring the glimmer of anger still crossing her face.

Darcy narrated his movements as he tilted the key forward at a slight angle, inserted it halfway, and then tilted it back with a hint of rotation. It worked like a charm, just like it had on the lock upstairs, and the lock gave with a satisfying click. He stepped back, gesturing with a slight bow for her to enter the apartment.

She did, muttering her thanks to him, and a hint of vanilla and something else reached his nose as she swept past him and into the room, the door swinging shut behind her.

He stood for a moment in silence, staring at the front of the door and wondering who this girl was. She was certainly something different, but how had she managed to catch _Bingley's_ attention? How had she managed to come across as a sweet enough girl to be deemed an angel? He couldn't have managed to fuck up _that_ badly with her…could he?

This girl was a puzzle, there was no doubt about that. But what frustrated him the most was that she was a puzzle he couldn't figure out, and the pieces had begun to hide themselves deep in the corners of his mind.

As he turned to walk away, he almost tripped over the box he had set on the floor.

He had almost forgotten it was there.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey all! Thank you so much for reading/following/favoriting/reviewing, it means the world to me! I'm still in the process of writing this fic…I have a general idea of plot outline and where I want it to go, but if there are any scenes you'd like to see written, feel free to let me know and I'll see if I can work them in!**

* * *

"I'm so done with all of this, Charlotte," Lizzy groaned as she collapsed on the couch.

"With what?" Charlotte mused, not looking up from her cousin's sister's best friend's boyfriend's brother's profile page on Instagram.

"With _guys_ , Char. They're all ten years old, I swear. For all the talk about them getting better as they get older, there's no way any of it is true. What an absolute _ass_." Lizzy couldn't help but glance back at the door.

"Whoever it is, maybe if you gave him a chance, he wouldn't be as bad," Charlotte muttered, trying to distance herself from her friend's irritation. It wasn't the first time Lizzy had come home ready to bite someone's head off, particularly in regard to the men in her life.

"Like _hell_ that's true." Lizzy was practically foaming at the mouth. "I give them all a chance. If one of them was going to be half decent, he wouldn't blow it within the first tenth of a second of meeting me." She stood, pacing back and forth between the two ends of the oriental carpet. "And to think Mom thought this one was perfect….just goes to show just how screwed up her taste in guys is."

"What's his name?" Charlotte asked. "I bet I can find him online. And I'd also have to bet he's attractive, considering how disappointed you seem to be about him."

Lizzy stopped her pacing abruptly.

"His _name_?" she asked, and it seemed to Charlotte as though she hadn't realized she had said the words aloud. But even after she had, she didn't have an answer. Lizzy's face scrunched up, her eyes frantically darting around the room, looking for hints that clearly weren't there. "God, Char…I don't remember what his name was. I don't even remember if we introduced ourselves or not."

"Lizzy, you threw a hissy fit when I mixed up Macbeth and Macduff on that Shakespeare essay freshman year – and yes, that was an honest mistake. You can't honestly expect me to believe you forgot his name." Charlotte put the phone down on her lap in order to get a better look at her friend's face. "I see one of two options here. One, you never gave him an opportunity to introduce himself, which means you're wrong and you did _not_ give him a chance…no, don't even try to give me that. And two, you know his name already and you like him too much to share with the rest of the world. So which one is it?"

"I hate you," was all Lizzy could say, and between the smug look Charlotte felt creeping over her face and the irritated one coming over her friend's face, it was clear that Lizzy was trapped. If there was one thing she knew her friend hated more than anything, it was being proved wrong.

But then again, it was about time that she had something to tease Lizzy about.

Charlotte had studied hard her whole life, earning the coveted title of salutatorian at Jacksonville High and a spot at UPenn. After getting to university, she realized she wanted more than academia could provide; although her official transcript said that she was a psychology major, she was really on the hunt for her M.R.S. degree. There were thousands of semi-good looking men wandering around on campus talking about their private yachts and vacation homes in the Bahamas. If she had just managed to catch one of them, she would have been set for life, and she would be perfectly content to never work another day. Lizzy (and even Jane, on occasion) had mocked her for going after so many different guys throughout her time in college, but she failed to see what was wrong about using a man to up her social standing. She had been smart enough to get into an Ivy League; she felt there was nothing left to prove. Besides, she _loved_ the drama of it all, and she couldn't say no to the attention.

Unfortunately for her, none of them had panned out, and she found herself living with two other women, working the front desk at a local pediatrician's office, with little hope of finding what she was looking for. In fact, none of them had had _any_ luck with love lately.

There was no way she was letting Lizzy off the hook with this one.

Lizzy's cell phone buzzed loudly in her pocket, and Charlotte watched sadly as a wide grin broke out over her face and she scrambled for the phone. Lizzy proudly showed her the screen, brightly lit up with a little **Can I call you**? under Jane's name. She couldn't have had worse timing.

"Sorry to disappoint, but my sister needs me. You'll have to save your interrogations for another time."

"I hope you know that things around here have been remarkably boring lately and you're not getting away from this that easily. But put Jane on speaker! I want to hear how the spring break in hell is going." After growing up next to the Bennets all her life, Charlotte was all too aware of what Jane was dealing with. She couldn't help but pity the poor girl.

The two girls crowded the tiny iPhone as they stared at the picture of five-year-old Jane Bennet sticking out her tongue at the camera and wearing a little blue sailor dress. Lizzy had found it in a box of old pictures her mother had stowed away in the attic, and she hadn't been able to help herself. The dialing tone rang four times before the screen changed and Jane's voice rang out of the speaker with a happy "Hello!"

The girls chatted for a few minutes about the past couple of days. Lizzy asked how Jane's time at home had been (to which she heard about how clean the house was and how talkative their sisters had been, and about how she had hardly gotten a moment to herself since getting there) and Jane asked Lizzy if she was ready for the camp this week (to which Lizzy could only respond with the honest answer of not being quite sure). Charlotte contributed a bit here and there as well, biding her time until she could call Lizzy out on the encounter of the day.

But she was beaten to the excitement by Jane, whose voice seemed to be practically bubbling over with excitement. "You'll _never_ guess what happened," finally rang out of the speaker, each word emphasized far more than was necessary.

This was going to be good.

"What?" asked the two girls. Lizzy's voice carried the slightest note of hesitation, but Charlotte's was more than excited enough for the both of them, bubbling out impatiently.

"Remember that guy Mom told us about? The one she thought would be perfect…?"

Lizzy's eyes widened. "Yeah," she practically whispered, seeming to force the word out. Charlotte put her hand over her mouth to muffle her chuckle at the look of utter shock on her friend's face.

This was going to be _really_ good.

"Well, I met him! I wanted to call you as soon as it happened, but it didn't mean anything, and I didn't want Mom to catch on, and – oh Lizzy! – I think she might have been right on this one. I didn't believe her at first, of course, but then I met him and we talked for a bit after I had to run back upstairs for my books, and…well…he might just be perfect."

Charlotte didn't think Lizzy's face could get any redder, and she reveled in the drama this man had created. She glanced back at her friend one more time before asking Jane what he was like.

"Oh, he was such a dear. I accidentally ran into him and he apologized right away, even though it was my fault! He was so kind, and he was telling me about how he was moving in next door and how he was a little bit nervous about living in the city and he wasn't sure about the landlord's policies –"

"Was he cute?" Charlotte couldn't help but interrupt.

"…yes. He had beautiful eyes, and I'd say he's in the running for one of the most attractive people I've ever met, but that pales in comparison to his personality. I do hope we run into him again, Lizzy. I mean, I guess it'd be hard to avoid him, as neighbors and all, but still…I would like to see him again."

Charlotte gave a pointed look at Lizzy before asking Jane what the man's name had been. "I'll do the background check and tell you everything I find out," she cheerily offered. Her friend tried to silently protest, whacking Charlotte on the arm and kicking her gently in the shin, but it was too late.

"Charles Bingley, but I believe he goes by Charlie," Jane was saying, the smile in her voice evident even over the phone. "And you can look him up to your heart's desire, but you don't need to tell me what you find. I'd rather hear it all from him in person once I get back. You do think I'll see him again, don't you?"

"I do, Jane. I really do. In fact, Lizzy over here might have run into him not even half an hour ago, didn't you, Lizzy?"

Charlotte winked at her friend and watched as Lizzy turned bright red, covering her face with her hands as she groaned. "Charlotteeee," she whined quietly, before turning back to the phone. "I don't know, Jane. Maybe it wasn't him. He didn't seem anything like you described, and he didn't say anything about moving in next door, and –"

"What did he seem like then? What happened?"

"Nothing _happened_ , Jane. Nothing worth hearing about, anyway…he just ran into me in the hallway, that's all. Didn't seem like anything too special."

"Oh, well, okay then, if you're sure…."

"I'm sure, Jane. Promise."

The two sisters talked for a couple of minutes longer before finally hanging up, both of them carefully dancing around each other on the topic of the mystery man down the hall, as Charlotte began pulling up her Safari browser and typing in "Charles Bingley" in the bar at the top.

A link to a Facebook page was the first thing to pop up, but as Charlotte heard the gentle tap of Lizzy's phone being put down again, she quickly locked her own and turned to face her friend.

"Nothing happened? Nothing? Miss "I'm So Done With Guys" has one run into her in the hallway outside and it's nothing? You're not getting off the hook that easily."

"It really wasn't that big of a deal, honestly. But ugh, if it was the same guy, Jane has no idea what she's getting herself into here…"

"Not that big of a deal? The only guy that's ever run into me was that old geezer from the second floor who had the heart attack six months ago, and both you and Jane get one within the span of twenty-four hours? And it's 'not a big deal'? Elizabeth Marie Bennet, what happened?! I promise, I won't tell Jane anything if you don't want me to, but I want the dirty details!"

"Fine…okay, so I had just made it back from checking the mail, and I was standing outside the door when he literally just came by and knocked me over. Like, knocked me over _to the ground_ , and he didn't help me up or even apologize! I mean, just how big of an asshole can you be? But then it got worse because he just looked at me and basically said I was ugly! I mean, sure, it wasn't like I was wearing makeup or a dress or anything, but that's just so incredibly rude. I can't even. And _then_ , as if that wasn't bad enough, he said I was using my key to get in wrong and that he could do it better, so he butted in and did it for me. Like I didn't know how to use a _key_!" Lizzy's voice had grown more and more animated, her hands wildly gesturing to dramatize her story.

"Other than the ugly thing and the not apologizing thing, both of which I think you might be exaggerating just a little teensy tiny bit, he really doesn't sound all that bad."

"You weren't there, Charlotte! He was an ass. A complete ass. An ass I would never even dream of setting up my sister with….I have no idea how she thought he was a decent guy, let alone a perfect one." Lizzy had started pacing back and forth across the floor.

It was the most worked up Charlotte had seen her get over a single guy in a long time.

"Well, I'm going to look him up, and we can see what we can figure out." Lizzy rushed to her side and peered over her shoulder as Charlotte plugged in her four-digit passcode and the screen brightly displayed Charles Bingley's Facebook page.

"What kind of guy sets his profile picture to a puppy playing in a field of daffodils?" Lizzy wondered out loud, but Charlotte was already busy scrolling.

"Wait! Zoom in on that one!"

It was a selfie. He was wearing a bucket hat and standing in front of a sunset, wearing swim trunks with bright pink octopuses on them.

"You _would_ pick that one," Charlotte said, winking again before graciously obliging.

"Not on the abs, Char. On the face. I don't think this is the right guy."

Lizzy squinted into the phone before definitively stating that this wasn't the guy she had met. "This one has blonde hair and brown eyes, and the one from the hallway had dark brown hair and green eyes and was maybe a little less lanky than him."

" _You noticed his eye color_?" Charlotte practically squealed. Lizzy almost never remembered details about the guys she had met. It was one of the more frustrating things about her.

"Of course I did. He ran into me, Charlotte, why wouldn't I?"

Charlotte just looked at her before going back to her scrolling.

"Okay fine, maybe he was a little bit attractive. But still! That doesn't make up for being rude!"

"Got his undergrad degree from Harvard, premed….currently a medical student over at Columbia…hey, that's not too far, maybe Jane knows some of his professors…looks like he has one dog and maybe ? Oooh, Lizzy, this might be bad…"

"What happened?" Lizzy came to look over her shoulder.

"He's had this girl in at least five pictures so far that I've seen, captions are all about her being the brightest spot in his life, no sign of a breakup…"

"Uh? Charlotte?"

"What?"

"Did you not see the tag? 'Caroline Bingley' – that has to be a sister. Maybe a cousin. Either way, family."

"You're right, I wasn't thinking…okay, another one with the sister, this one looks like it has another sister...aww, look at this baby picture! And wait – we have a middle school throwback in here too! This guy has a veritable gold mine on here to work with, I can't believe Jane doesn't want to know about any of this. Hey, his friend is quite the looker too! Think Jane could get him to set me up?" Charlotte held the phone up for Lizzy to see, and could only watch as her friend's cheeks started to pinken. Jane had always been the blusher of the Bennet family, but it seemed as though Lizzy was well on her way to catching up.

"That's him. Charlotte, that's the guy!"

"The one from outside?" She almost dropped her phone in excitement. "Only a little bit attractive? This one's smokin' hot, I would happily snap him right up…damn it, Charlie didn't tag anyone in this one, just mentioned that it was a day at the ballgame with his oldest friend…so inconsiderate of him, making me work for it…" She opened up Bingley's photo albums and started scrolling quickly through them, pausing every time she came across a flash of dark hair.

The stranger was everywhere. Birthday posts, family gatherings, graduations, another couple of baseball games and one trip to the Superbowl, vacation photos from the beach – there was no escaping him.

Not a single one of them had a tag or even a name for her to go off of.

"You know, if you'd just gotten his name earlier, this whole thing would be much easier." Lizzy ignored her pointed comment.

Charlotte went on to check Charles Bingley's Twitter and Instagram profiles, even going back to read through some of the articles about his stint in cross country running during high school in her desperate search to figure out who Lizzy's mystery man was, but it was to no avail.

"I think it's time for you to give it up, Char. We've already determined that this guy isn't the same one Jane saw, and besides, he's really not worth the time or the effort."

"But Lizzy! What if they're gay? Jane could spend her entire life pining away for this Charlie – it's not natural to have that many pictures with the same guy in it, and it'd definitely explain the profile picture. If we don't investigate now, she might never find out what was truly going on! Don't you want to _protect_ your sister?"

"You know I do, Charlotte, but I really, _really_ don't think stalking his friend is the answer." Lizzy walked away into the kitchen, unable to bear her friend's gaze or pleading attitude for one second more.

Charlotte was silent for what felt like an eternity but which was less than five minutes. "Found him!" She called into the other room, and was unsurprised when Lizzy emerged almost immediately.

" _How_?"

"I told you, I'm good. Guy's name is William Darcy, according to this high school graduation packet I found. They even added senior pictures…I would definitely say he had a glow up somewhere in there, this says he went to Yale and won a shit ton of scholarships but not much else. I'll keep looking for social media but so far we've got nothing on either Instagram or Twitter."

"Okay, for one thing, you have way too much time on your hands. And for another, you are absolutely, positively ridiculous, and I hope you know that."

"Wait until I find him, and then we can talk about who the ridiculous one here is."

Charlotte didn't feel like it was necessary to mention _just yet_ that she had already found him. Not on Facebook, not on Twitter, and not on Instagram, but on something far better.

She had found his private blog.


	4. Chapter 4

William Darcy looked across the field with mild disgust.

When he had made plans to come to the local public library today, he had had full intentions of holing himself away in a quiet corner somewhere and researching late nineteenth century British history and hopefully finishing out the day with another chapter of his book completed. He hadn't anticipated that it would be transformed into a veritable _zoo_. He heard cackles and squeals and shouts, saw blurs of all the colors of the rainbow streaming past him, and nearly tripped and fell over one of the bright orange traffic cones placed directly in the path of the pedestrian crosswalk.

He forged a quick retreat, speeding to the glass doors and hurriedly shutting them behind him, but it was no use. The barbaric midgets had bypassed this last protection, and the inside was no less busy than the outside had been. It was quieter, he would give them that, but it was no less of a madhouse. Tables had been set up to line the edges of the main room, and the children were clustered around them as librarians in bright blue shirts hustled to and fro purposefully.

He cautiously walked along the outskirts of the maelstrom, trying almost as hard to avoid being approached as he was to figure out what in God's name was going on. There were macaroni necklaces, coloring books and broken crayons, duct tape purses, a tray in a corner labeled with "Curious George's Banana Muffins" holding only crumbs, and a massive pile of LEGO bricks swarmed by an even larger pile of children. Scattered throughout the tables were books, but as he turned his head, he noticed that they lay untouched. Not one of the munchkins had bothered to pick one up, to take advantage of the beanbag chairs, to escape to a different world.

He wasn't sure what that said about this library.

Darcy found his way through the aisles, a bit confused on where the books he was looking for might be but far too stubborn to admit it. He could admit, however, and happily, that the noise levels had seemed to drop significantly the deeper he wandered into the stacks. It was somewhere between Greek Mythology and Gardening that the barrage on his ears had ceased and the noise became bearable. He ambled a bit more; his eyes skimmed the titles, but it was difficult to process what they said.

As if from a distance, he heard a soft voice cutting through the muted cacophony of the main room. He continued wandering, looking for the historic section, but ultimately noticed his attention drifting back to the barely audible hum of words.

At long last, he gave up. He could always come back for the book on a quieter day; besides, it wasn't like he could get much done with the library turned into one massive Chuck E Cheese's. He turned and meandered around, but he could find no evidence of who had been speaking, until finally, he come across an opening in the shelving units.

Yet another mob of the dirty little urchins was packed into the corner, grubby fingers visibly colored in dirt and peeling glue. But these ones (bless their souls) were silent. They sat cross-legged on a green carpet with bright shapes lining the sides, and all eyes were focused in on the young woman in a rocking chair at their center. She wore the same bright blue shirt as all the other librarians, save for the small white name tag proclaiming her supervisor, and he started as he realized that he had met her exactly once before, outside of an elevator not that long ago. Darcy ducked around a corner, hiding himself behind the nearest shelf and peering through the opening above the books.

"Once there was a tree, and she loved a little boy," came drifting towards him. Her voice was sweet but strong; she infused each word with inflection as she turned the pages and showed the pictures around. "But time went by, and the boy grew older, and the tree was often alone." She had a mess of books surrounding her – picture books, chapter books, titles he recognized, and even some he did not – and it was clear that this was her element. "I'm sorry, boy," said the tree, "I've nothing left to give you."' She looked radiant, even in a plain cotton t-shirt and skinny jeans with her hair running wild, and even he could grudgingly admit that Charles Bingley was indeed a lucky man.

If he had met her first, maybe things might have been different. It would take a hundred times more courage than he possessed to have approached her now, to have disrupted the peaceful haze surrounding that corner of the library, but he could so easily envision the soft smile she bore turning into a wide one, brightening up her whole face…but he couldn't afford to think like that. Bingley had found her first and fallen for her first, and no matter how entrancing she might seem, he could never do that to his friend.

Darcy glanced over one last time before turning around and leaning backwards against the cold metal shelf. It didn't help much; her voice still carried just as smoothly, and the mental image he had of her had hardly faded.

He had heard _The Giving Tree_ hundreds of times. Probably more than that, if it really came down to it. His mother had read it to him and then he had read it to himself, and his copy was worn and ripping clean through by the end of its life. And yet…hearing it now, hearing this woman tell the story to a group of children who were _almost_ as enraptured by her voice as he was, it was as though he was hearing it for the first time.

* * *

Lizzy had felt someone watching her for the past half hour, and it wasn't the children.

She had shown up that morning prepared and ready to go, but a wrench had been thrown in her plans within the first ten minutes with two of the other librarians calling in sick and another throwing a fit about the job he had been assigned. The Director of Operations had initially signed up to work the "Read-With-Me" station, but had ended up needing to fill in elsewhere. She supposed her role as supervisor might mean she ought to have stayed away and _supervised_ the whole thing, but they were spread thin. And besides, she loved to read.

Lizzy could only hope that the rest of the program was running as smoothly as her little corner of the library. She had left a few times to check on the others and make sure they were doing all right, as well as to restock her growing pile of books - and had accidentally managed to run into one very cute volunteer every time she had – and every time she came back, it seemed like she had brought more of them along with her.

The children were adorable, and made her heart feel full to know that the work she had put in was finally being appreciated and used to help each and every one of these kids. She hoped they could find the same solace in this building and in these books as she did, even if the sanctuary could only be temporary.

The group she had been keeping an eye on had only been growing since the time she had sat down. They looked at her with big doe eyes, and she couldn't help but melt every time they would smile at her.

And then, as she opened the pages of _The Giving Tree_ , she had felt it.

She wasn't quite sure what she felt exactly. She didn't see anyone, and even if she had, it was a public library and there were likely to be plenty of people unassociated with her program wandering around the children's section. It wasn't as though dark shadows were lurking in an abandoned alleyway, or hands crawling up her sides, but the scene seemed fuller than she could imagine.

She finished the story, following it up with _Where the Wild Things Are, The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ , and an abridged version of _Charlotte's Web_. It wasn't the same as the original; she wished more than anything that she could have had the time to read the entireties of some of her favorite books growing up, but it simply wasn't realistic. As she pulled out her personal copy of Dr. Seuss's _Oh, The Places You'll Go_ , she noticed a tall man slipping out from behind a shelf. The eyes she had felt on her walked away with him, swept up somewhere deep inside his long black overcoat, and curiosity bubbled deep within.

She had so many questions. Why had he come? Why had he stopped? How long had he been there? What sort of grown man would sit and watch children listen to picture books read aloud? He couldn't mean any threat to the children – could he?

There had been something eerily familiar about him, but he had been turned away and she hadn't been able to see his face, and she couldn't put her finger on just what it was. She continued reading, but it was difficult to keep her voice as animated when her thoughts had drifted, difficult to stay entirely focused on the group of kids sitting around her.

Lizzy kept reading. Her little group of children grew and grew, and by the time five o'clock and the end of _Curious George_ had come around, there were easily fifty of them surrounding her. She apologized to the tune of disappointed sighs before walking all of them to the main entrance, where she and a couple of the other librarians stood and directed traffic for the pickups.

She supposed it was a truth universally acknowledged that parents of young children found it difficult to keep to a schedule, but it wasn't one she had to approve of. It took over an hour for all her little campers to find their parents and their way home, and by the time she had made it back inside, the majority of the day's cleanup had already been completed.

"Slacking much, are we?" She felt him coming up behind her before she heard the voice, and she turned and smiled up into a brilliant set of blue eyes.

"Speak for yourself, George," she responded, her attempt at sarcasm lost in the breathless whisper that came out.

George Wickham had joined their latest wave of volunteers, and in her _entirely_ professional opinion, he was a valuable asset to their library community. He was a hard worker, a good listener, and most importantly, an avid lover of books. She had had more conversations than she could count with him regarding the virtues or downfalls of a particular author or title – all strictly professional, of course – and had been amazed at how many of his opinions corresponded perfectly with her own. It didn't hurt that he had flowing golden-brown hair and blue eyes the color of the sky, or that his bulging biceps and broad shoulders were highlighted by the shirt he wore. His smile could light up the room, and his charismatic personality gave the library a much more inviting feel.

Lizzy always seemed to notice his absence when he wasn't there – of course, she reasoned, it was in a _professional_ way – people tended to ask him any questions when he was around, leaving less for the rest of them, and he seemed to be able to fix any problem.

Though she had considered taking her interest in the man beyond what may have been appropriate for coworkers in a public library (she refused to think about the fact that he was, in fact, only a volunteer), she knew too much about his past. He was a huge flirt (even now he was turning the charm up to full volume with that wink) to everyone he encountered, and his long string of past girlfriends was gossip even _she_ had heard about in the staff room. She couldn't get involved, and she knew that…but talking to him couldn't hurt anyone.

"I had a great time today, Liz. And I know the kiddos did too, you should've heard them raving about it!" The sincerity in his voice was evident, but no less present than his teasing overtone. He knew how much this meant to her, and it was sweet that he felt the need to compliment her on its first day. Even if he did look a little ridiculous wearing a macaroni necklace and carrying a broom and bright yellow dustpan, she couldn't help but admit to herself that the whole picture was endearing.

"Really? I'm so glad…I was worried it wouldn't end well after the fiasco this morning, and with so many kids signing up last minute…"

"Would I lie to you, Liz? It was great. A huge success. And from what I hear, you got to be the star of your own show, I can't tell you how many of the little guys I lost to some magical princess's reading aloud of some book or another, and if I'm to be completely honest, I half considered coming and sitting with them myself." He finished with another wink, tapping her gently on the arm to complete the image, and she was unable to stop the blush that erupted over her cheeks.

"I'm flattered, George, really I am, but we both know that's a lie. Who could resist making macaroni necklaces? I know I couldn't have compared, though I appreciate that we found a few with the good sense to like reading. Besides, you would have looked more than a little ridiculous sitting criss-cross-applesauce between God knows how many five year olds."

"You won't deny the fairy princess part, then?"

"It would be beyond rude to deny such a compliment from such a handsome young gent as yourself," she smiled, trying carefully to keep a light and teasing tone as a barrier against his charm.

"Ah, I suppose I can't deny that one either…I'll just have to return it with more, you know…hmm…Well, this fairy princess I heard about is beautiful – no, stunning – and with a voice like spun gold, that draws one right under her spell…She wears a brilliant blue dress and has hair wilder than flowers on a meadow, and –"

Lizzy was stunned herself. All her encounters with George had been quick, passing, easy. They had discussed superficial topics and preferences, and she had never been given any indication that he might think of her as more than a coworker. She reprimanded herself internally for being affected by his smooth words, but she couldn't help but be flattered by each and every one of them.

"….and from what I hear, more talents with a broom than even Cinderella herself!" He started chuckling at that last part and she joined in as he started holding out his own broom to her. The look on his face was joking, but she was a bit relieved to discover the end goal of all his flattery.

It worked though, and she sighed loudly at him as she picked it up and resumed her work. He smiled back roguishly, and for a moment she was too lost to his charms to even tell him to get off the desk.

"Seriously though, Liz, you've done a fantastic job, and I could tell it meant a lot to the little people. And I wasn't kidding when I said I had heard them all raving about you. Apparently, you make a pretty good first impression."

His face was serious, but she was at a loss for words. "Thank…thank you," the words fell out abruptly, each one falling on top of the rest. "I'm glad to hear it, I like to tell myself I'm good at reading aloud but then again I guess the kids don't really discriminate too much."

He playfully rubbed her elbow, winking _yet again_ (seriously, did the guy ever stop?) before looking her straight in the eyes, claiming that "he would be the judge of that" and asking her when she'd be willing to try out her talents on him.

She muttered something incoherent about being busy and not having time and besides, he'd only be disappointed.

"How about Friday? I can come pick you up around seven, and we can do dinner beforehand. You'll find I don't disappoint nearly as easily as you give me credit for, I'm afraid."

"Um, yeah, I guess I can make that work?" _Shit_. Lizzy cringed inwardly at the statement, but it was better than showing the internal screaming going on. Had he just asked her out? What was she going to do? God, what was she going to tell Jane? She barely even _knew_ the guy, she knew he was trouble, and yet…maybe he was worth getting into trouble for? She just didn't know. But it seemed like now it was too late to back away from the situation. One night couldn't hurt anything. Besides, he hadn't officially asked her out, maybe it was just as friends and she had completely misread his intentions -

"Beautiful. It's a date, then." He asked for her phone and typed his number in, and oh gosh this had to be a dream, things like this didn't just happen to her, and maybe she'd just been imagining the last ten minutes.

As he turned away and walked back into the staff room, he gave her a playful wave paired with a brilliant smile that stretched straight up to the sunrise of his eyes. And then he was gone, and she was left in an extended state of disbelief with nothing more than the broom in her hand and her phone open to his contact information on the table.

She hadn't noticed a man, draped in a long black overcoat, sitting (and sulking) in a lounge chair at the end of an aisle. A book lay open on his lap, but it had remained open to the same page since the instant George Wickham had come into view. His eyes had followed the two of them, fruitlessly attempting to analyze and investigate the situation.

He had seen him approach her, her pick up his broom, the two of them casually chatting away. She had smiled at the blonde-haired boy across from her, and he had smiled back. There had been soft touches, almost describable as caresses, and the freedom with which he touched her made the man's blood boil. Not to mention the fact that he had encountered this boy before, in a much less pleasant setting…

His hand tightened into a fist, and he had to force himself to stay put and not leap up to separate the two, to prevent her from flirting with _him_ , of all people.

He was angry for the sake of his friend, a man who must clearly have been played by this heartbreaker of a young woman. _For his friend_. Not for him, he reminded himself. For Bingley.

He tried to ignore the fact that she hadn't even looked his way.


	5. Chapter 5

**See you soon ;)** read the glowing screen on her phone.

 **Can't wait** , she typed back, fingers practically shaking from nerves. This was her first date in ages, and it showed – her bedroom was a complete and utter mess, a thick layer of clothes and shoes and jewelry spread across the floor. Charlotte had tried to help calm her down but had ultimately only added to her stress; to date, a certain George Wickham apparently had 8 pictures posted on his Instagram with girls in bikinis, 3 of himself kissing attractive women (and three different women at that), and at least one picture which Charlotte had deemed "relationshippy". Charlotte relayed all this to her with a case in point that he had clearly seen a lot, and it would be even more difficult for Lizzy to leave a bad impression. Lizzy saw only rising expectations on his behalf. Good intentions or not though, Charlotte's words only served to kickstart Lizzy's overactive imagination.

Needless to say, she had kicked her friend out of her room an hour and a half ago as she struggled her way through dressing appropriately for whatever he had planned. He'd told her nothing save that it was a "big surprise", which, beyond simply making it impossible to figure out to wear, was annoying because she always seemed to get her hopes up a bit too high when it came to these things. She held the straightener in her hand, trying to run interference on the last few strands of frizz. Her reflection stared back at her in the mirror, and she felt more unprepared than ever.

 _Of all the weeks for Jane to go home._

Her reflection stared back at her in the mirror.

She had ended up deciding on a pair of skinny jeans, a tight-fitting pink dress shirt, and her trusty pair of bright purple Converse, with the slightest hint of makeup as her finishing touch.

 **Just pulled in to the main parking lot.** And, ten seconds later: **Want me to come up? Or would it be easier for you to come down?**

Not quite the elaborate entrance she had anticipated, but she assured herself she had made the right decision as she surveyed the chaos of the apartment. **Give me two seconds, I'll be right down :)**

Lizzy ran out the door and dashed toward the closing elevator door so quickly that she _almost_ didn't hear Charlotte's goodbye echoing through the hallway. "When do I get to meet Prince Charming?"

"First floor?" an unmistakably male voice asked her, and she looked up into the grimacing face of William Darcy.

"Yes, and may I just say, thank you for stating the obvious." Lizzy looked down at her phone to see that there were no more messages, but this guy just would not shut up.

"I'd ask if there was a special occasion going on, but given your lack of sweats, I'd think you'd call that an obvious statement as well." _And he's proven himself once more to be a dick, too_. Great. Just great.

She refused to answer, and he seemed to take the hint that she was in no talking mood. He simply stared straight ahead at the metal grate of the elevator, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was sharing the elevator any more. She supposed the quiet hostility broke her nerves for her date with Wickham, but it didn't make the ride down any more comfortable. Her eyes kept glancing over as if drawn to his face, but his refused to move.

It had to be the longest elevator ride of her entire life, and that included the time she and Jane had been stuck for forty-five minutes while they waited for the power to come back on. The number 1 finally, finally lit up, and she allowed herself to breathe out a sigh of relief at last.

In the split second before the doors opened, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

Not that she would never admit to noticing.

She didn't look backwards as she forced her feet to move, one in front of the other, trudging a path to the front door. As hard as she might try, Lizzy couldn't help but be apprehensive at the night that awaited her. She was excited, sure…but she couldn't help but wonder.

She could still feel Darcy watching her back as she wandered toward the door.

She found Wickham waiting outside, sitting astride a sleek black motorcycle with an extra helmet swinging in circles around his hand. His face suddenly turned blank as his eyes focused on a spot behind her, and he had to physically shake his head to compose himself once more.

His eyes focused on her once more, giving her a casual once over before saying a word. "Ready, sweetheart?" She couldn't help but cringe at the endearment, but then again, she'd never been one to back down from a challenge.

"I'll take that," was all she said as her hands grabbed the helmet, and she said a silent prayer that her voice hadn't betrayed her outward shakiness over this whole situation. Lizzy climbed on behind him, and he grabbed her hands and wrapped them around his waist.

"Hang on tight."

The engine roared, and before she could even catch her breath, they were off. She could feel the rumble of his chuckle as her arms seized around his waist with an iron grip. The streets flew by so quickly she could have sworn she was imagining the lights of the other cars on the roads. He blew one, no two, stop signs that she had seen, and there was one time when a pedestrian's face had been inches away from her own.

Lizzy couldn't even watch anymore. As terrifying as it was to feel the wind ripping through her newly straightened hair and as horrifying as it was to feel the motorcycle wobbling under her, squeezing her eyelids shut was the only way she could see to prevent a panic attack.

It went on forever, until finally, they came to a stop. She didn't open her eyes until she felt him starting to dismount, until she was absolutely sure they had stopped. She jumped off behind him, and almost fell out of relief as her feet connected with the solid ground.

"How about that for a sweet ride? My cousin owns a car dealership out in Michigan and I managed to sneak myself one of them, haven't regretted it since. But then again, I guess motorcycles aren't for everyone." _That damn eyebrow raise._

"No, it was great," she breathed through gritted teeth, unwilling to admit to how she really felt about it.

"See, that's what I like about you," he claimed with a huge smile on his face. "You've got balls, babe. A better pair than half the guys I know, probably."

"I do hope you're not being serious, but thanks anyway." Lizzy tried to force a smile onto her own face in return, but it stretched her face in a way that made her think of a feral animal more so than a woman on a date.

"Well, only one way to find out if you've really got a pair of your own, eh?" He winked, and she cringed again. Unfortunately for her, he misinterpreted her shudder and took advantage of the opportunity to draw closer to her, his chest less than an inch away from her own. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he whispered in her ear. "Plenty of time for that later, no?"

She coughed in a futile attempt to get him to back up. "Where are we, anyway?"

The grounds were in perfect condition, down to the topiary elephants dancing along the pathway, and the scent of freshly mowed grass cut through the air. If someone had asked her a week ago where she thought George Wickham would take her on a date, this would easily have been at the bottom of the list.

"A personal favorite," was all he had to say.

If they'd been in a cartoon, Lizzy's mouth would have dropped straight to the floor as the double doors opened to one of the finest dining rooms she had ever seen. It looked like she had always imagined the inside of a castle to be, with sweeping crystal chandeliers and a gorgeous spiral staircase. White tablecloths lined every table, and she looked around at all the guests with horror.

Floor-length ball gown, rich diamond necklaces, tuxedos…and then there she stood with Wickham, looking like stray dogs coming to beg for scraps.

"Why didn't you tell me to dress up?" she hissed under her breath.

"Please, darling, it's not like you need fancy jewels. You could outshine every woman here wearing nothing but a potato sack...or, dare I say, nothing at all," he finished with a wink.

God, she hated this. She hated the fact that she was walking into this blind. She hated the fact that he couldn't take this seriously. She hated the fact that the bright red blush sweeping across her face made it blatantly obvious that he had gotten a rise out of her. And more than anything else, she hated the fact that the only response she was capable of making was a stuttered "Wh-wh-what?"

He could only wink as the waiter came to escort them to a table. Lizzy inwardly (and outwardly, much as she wished she could deny it) cringed as she noticed the waiter's face shifting in response to their dress. She half expected him to kick them both out, but he was the picture of respectability.

"What can I get for you to drink, sir?"

"Two Manhattans for myself and the lady, and make it snappy."

"Um…actually – would you mind just grabbing me a water instead, please?"

"No alcohol for the lady. A daring move, to be sure," Wickham teased once the waiter had hurried off, a grin that boded no good springing to life across his lips.

"Says the one who seems to need the alcohol just to put up with me for the night," she returned, her voice seeming a bit snappier than she had initially intended.

"Guilty as charged, love," he added with a shrug. "A man can't help his breath being taken away by a lovely lady such as yourself."

She could only blush in response, and a dark little corner of her brain hated her for doing it.

He appeared to be forcing his smile back into submission, his features cautiously rearranging. "I hope you don't mind my asking, I really don't, but I couldn't help but notice…you wouldn't happen to be acquainted with a certain Mr. William Darcy, would you?" His voice was nonchalant, but he leaned in just _a bit_ too close for his act to go unnoticed.

"I suppose you could say that, though I'm terribly sorry if you wanted anything from him. I've hardly seen the man around, though rumor has it he moved into our apartment complex. But trust me, if I don't see the man for another twenty years it'll still be twenty years too soon! He's managed to insult me every single time we have crossed paths. I don't even know how he manages it at this point! Your friend is a complete and utter dickface, and that's all I have to say on the matter."

A slow smile began creeping back onto Wickham's face, and it was like the sun had come out from behind the clouds.

"Two specials. Oh, and a refill," he muttered at the waiter as he gestured to his drink. He turned his face gently back towards Lizzy.

"Friend might be a bit of a stretch. My dear, it would appear we stand on far more common ground than we had initially thought. You see, I am more acquainted with the Darcys than I would ever hope to be, and yet I cannot help but share your sentiments completely."

"Your big words will do nothing to woo me, Georgie. But please, do go on, I'm curious to see what time might tell."

"Time had nothing to do with it. Character flaw would be more like it, the man has no sense of honor, or love, or even common human decency."

"What could he possibly have done to you?" Lizzy had to admit, her curiosity was aroused, no matter how hard she might try to conceal it.

"It's not so much what he did do as what he _didn't_ do. You see, we grew up together; my father worked for his father, and being in such close proximity, the two of us often had cause to see each other. We were the best of friends, playmates, compatriots…we would explore together and eat together and often get in trouble together as well, for the fact of the matter was that we were inseparable. Then one day, my father was diagnosed with cancer. The elder Mr. Darcy promised to cover all of his medical bills as well as to cover my education, and it was a blessing upon my entire family. However, two years later, when Darcy's father passed on, good ol' Will refused to honor the commitment his pop had made to our family. He rescinded his offer of paying for my education and left me thousands of dollars in debt and unable to finish college and get my degree. I went back to school later, of course, but it was never the same, and he left me emotionally scarred."

"What a horrible thing to do!" Lizzy exclaimed, surprise evident throughout all of her features. "I can't believe _anyone_ capable of such things, but it seems too ridiculous to have been made up!"

"That's not even the worst of it! You see, dear William has a younger sister named Georgiana. Now, not too long after I was forced to drop out, I ran into Georgie at a library, believe it or not. I fell hard and fast for her – she is nothing like her brother, a delightful young thing, though perhaps a bit shy – and could think of nothing more but getting her to fall for me as well. Eventually I succeeded in getting her to agree to go on a date with me, and I was ecstatic – though certainly not as excited as I was for this opportunity with you, as this was many years ago – but of course, that was the exact moment when Will decided to step in."

He searched her eyes for any sign of a response before resuming his story, his voice growing quieter.

"He sat her down in front of me and told her she was clearly not old enough or responsible enough to be making decisions on her own, and that he would make this one for her. He handed me a hundred dollar bill, as though that could ever be enough, and told me that he would have my hide if he ever saw me sniffing around his sister again."

"That sounds absolutely terrible, George! I can't believe he would put you through something like that. I can't believe he could be so devoid of all human decency that he would be able to subject his sister to that. Or that he would treat you as nothing better than a…than a prostitute!"

"It took me years to get over the blow to my confidence, I won't hesitate to admit it. Though perhaps it is for the best, since now I have the pleasure of finding myself in the company of the most beautiful young lady in New York."

"Oh stop it, you big flirt."

"Guilty as charged." He shrugged gently as the waiter placed two crisp white plates down in front of them, raising his voice only once he had left. "But you're worth it."

She felt warmed by his words, and they gave her a better buzz than any alcohol she might have ordered.

Then she looked down at her plate, and it was gone even quicker than it had come.

"Shrimp scampi," she said, hoping the disappointment wasn't too evident in her voice.

"Mhmm. Looks delicious, huh?"

In his defense, it _did_ look delicious. The presentation was more beautiful than any she had ever seen, and the vegetables added a splash of color.

But she hated seafood more than anything. It had brought her to tears more times than she'd ever admit to as a child, and though she had overcome that, it never failed to set off her gag reflex. Even the fumes were starting to get to her…

"Oh, yes. Delicious." She took a tiny bite of pasta, trying to ignore the tang of the shrimp and force it down.

"So enough about that buzzkill Will Darcy. Tell me about yourself, darlin'," he drawled out.

"Well, I come from a family of all girls, and I still live with my older sister Jane. I work at the library, and I love to read. What more is there to know?" She hoped the teasing would distract him from her fork picking around her food.

"That's all? The darkest secrets and deepest dreams of the Miss Bennet? I must say, I'm a bit disappointed in you. I think we might have to spice your life up a bit, it'll take more work than I thought. Guess you'll just have to come out with me again."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here."

"Is that a refusal? Challenge accepted, darling, _challenge accepted_."

He clearly didn't have the same qualms about seafood as she did, if the forkfuls of shrimp and pasta he was shoving into his mouth was any indication. She wondered at the fact that he was even able to breathe.

"I don't know about that; then again, you haven't even made it through the first date with me yet. What if I grow a second head and my eyes turn bright red, and then you're stuck with me on a second date?"

"Twice the brains and the ability to go all night without any impact on the eyes, I'd be even more desperate for another chance with you."

Lizzy picked around at her food a bit more, forcing down another couple bites of pasta and artfully rearranging the food on her plate to make it appear as though she had eaten more than she had.

He clearly fell for it, as not more than twenty minutes and two more bites of pasta later, he had paid the check and she found herself back on the motorcycle.

It was freeing in a way, flying through the air with nothing to hold onto but the warmth of Wickham's jacket. Or at least, that's what she thought, until he stopped in front of a dimly lit, run-down apartment complex. A dimly lit, run-down apartment complex that was not hers.

She had barely had time to remove her helmet before his mouth was attacking hers with vigor, his hands gripping her face tightly to allow himself better access. In another situation, in another time, she might have described it as protective or sweet; in her current state, she was more freaked out than anything.

It just felt _wrong_.

She tried kissing him back, tried opening herself up to him, tried letting go of her hindrances, but the second he tried to force her through the door she decided she had had enough.

"Where is this?" she demanded.

"My place, Lizzy B. Figured you could use a little exercise to work off that meal, eh?"

 _What meal_ , she might have chuckled. But a dark look was passing over his face, and not for the first time that night she found herself more than a little bit scared.

"What the hell? On the first date, _really_? Take me home, George." Her voice left no room for misinterpretation.

"I did." He tried to lean in and kiss her again, but her instincts were quicker than anything he had to offer and her arm shot out to stop him.

"Take me home. _Now_."

"Fine, Liz. Be the buzzkill. I thought we were having fun. I thought _you_ were fun."

She didn't even deign to respond to him until they finally pulled into a more familiar drive. But this time, the silence was charged, uncomfortable, and his ability to drive a motorcycle seemed to have been significantly impaired. She wished multiple times that she had thought to walk home, to Google map where they had been, to call up an Uber or even Charlotte to come and get her.

"Good night, George."

This time, it was his turn to refuse to respond. Though, in his defense, her words clearly communicated the end to their date.

She turned around and walked into the building, confident steps carrying her unfaltering across the entrance before she collapsed against a wall and shut her eyes tight, heaving breaths betraying her true feelings of fear and complete disappointment.

Of course, of _course_ , the sight she finally opened those eyes to was of a certain William Darcy entering the building, the bell in the doorway binging happily as his gaze fell upon her.

"What are _you_ looking at?" was all she could muster the energy to say.


End file.
